The fact that good Christians disagree on various doctrinal issues is a reality that every Christian must eventually come to grips with. There are, of course, easy ways out. For example, no one is going to heaven except those with my particular beliefs. This idea usually crops up in only the most insular churches and sects and isn’t very healthful for an honest intellect. Alternatively, one can make such disagreements totally irrelevant by tacit materialism. What matter is the doctrine of election if the purpose of the Gospel is simply to make us better people to one another? This may make one feel magnanimous in one’s tolerance and cosmopolitan outlook, but it ultimately eviscerates the God-centered heart of the Christian faith.

Given the unacceptability of these two options, the very fact of honest disagreement forces us to conclude that God simply does not perfect everyone’s (or anyone’s) faith or belief while on earth, regardless of which side may have claim to the truth. There has likely not been a person in the history of the earth who has fully and truthfully apprehended every nuance of Christian doctrine.

This begs the question of what beliefs are necessary for salvation. One can take the historical route of the Roman Catholic Church, and categorically anathematize certain beliefs (or at least the people who believe them). The Athanasian Creed is full of anathemas for those who don’t believe in certain nuances of the doctrine of the Trinity, for example. Of course, this approach again begs the question, what makes an idea a heresy, as opposed to a simple error? And further, who gets to decide?

History has shown that faith in Rome to decide such questions is misplaced. As with any extended order, central authority usually isn’t a very good solution. Yet most Protestants also tacitly accept a form of the idea. They carry with them a conservative list of categorical anathemas, and brush the question of “who gets to decide” under the table. Or worse yet, they arrogate the power to themselves.

Presumably any thinking person laboring under such assumptions would admit that heresy is to be discovered, not declared. Yet this simply moves the question from who to how. It still requires a distinction between heresy and simple error, a distinction which is problematic for several reasons, not least of which is that it’s arbitrary.

These problems arise because we apply the category of “heresy” to an idea or a belief in the abstract, independent of any particular believer. We say, “If you believe this, you are automatically excluded from the Church until you recant”. This is not a helpful statement. If we are to understand the nature of heresy, a belief, the holding of which precludes salvation, we must first define the prerequisite to salvation: faith is the apprehension of the self as meritless and of God as supremely valuable.

With this laid out before us, we can cast the question of heresy in the light of Romans 14:

Therefore let us not judge one another anymore, but rather determine this – not to put an obstacle or a stumbling block in a brother’s way. I know and am convinced in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself; but to him who thinks anything to be unclean, to him it is unclean.
Romans 14:13-14

What can we glean from this passage with regard to heresy?

1. The category of heresy does not apply to an idea in the abstract. Nothing is unclean in itself.
2. Heresy is any belief that blinds one to the glory of God. Paul sets the locus of Christian liberty on the glory of God in a parallel passage: Whether then you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31). This command comes in the middle of a passage which sounds very similar to Romans 14, talking about whether it is lawful to eat meat sacrificed to idols (it is, he concludes, so long as one’s conscience is not violated; i.e., so long as it confers no legitimacy to those idols). This means what is heresy for one believer may not be for another. There are many Arminian Christians I know and know of who have a strong and earnest desire for God through Christ. There are many more who had no sense of the glory and goodness of God until divesting themselves of notions of self-agency. Is Arminianism heresy? For some people, yes. For others, no. Faulty beliefs can obscure the glory of God the same way that eating sacrificed meat might inadvertently obscure the glory of God to a weaker brother by legitimizing the house of the idol. On the other hand, God gives to some a faith so strong that they apprehend his glory in spite of egregious doctrinal errors.¹
3. This presumes that the purpose of truth is that we might apprehend the Glory of God. There is no believer with a faith so strong that it could not be made stronger by the correcting of its errors. John reveals the purpose of his own letters in 1 John 1:4: These things we write, so that our joy may be made complete – joy in the glory of God through the sanctification of his readers. We have a duty to truth because the glory of God is the good of the elect. The more accurately we see God through the lens of the doctrine we hold, the more glorious he will seem to us, no matter how glorious he already seemed before.
4. The standard is not external. No human – Pope or Preacher – can anathematize another, for one cannot see except vaguely another’s concept of the glory of God. Therefore, let us not judge one another anymore.

Having thus disposed of the distinction between heresy and simple error, we can nevertheless (roughly) call some ideas “more heretical” than others, keeping in mind that any idea cannot be categorical heresy; only “heresy to someone”. It is obvious, for example, that a belief in free human agency has less potential to obscure the glory of God than a denial of the humanity of Christ. Arminianism can thus be called “less heretical” than Gnosticism, as long as we remember that this refers only to its effect on particular believers.

On the subject of Gnosticism, though the idea of anathematization by council may have been misplaced, there is good reason that so many historical anathemas are centered around doctrines of Christ. The redemption of mankind through Christ is the focal point of the display of God’s glory on earth. This is precisely why knowledge of Christ is so essential to apprehending the glory of God, and thus to Salvation. Indeed, Whoever denies the Son does not have the Father; whoever confesses the Son has the Father also (1 John 2:23). To deny the Son is to fail to apprehend the greatest display of God’s glory in history; a fortiriori apprehension of lesser glory nevertheless does not avail to instill the pursuit of God as a behavioral axiom.

So perhaps Athanasius and the early church fathers (and certainly later pontiffs) went overboard in anathematizing various competing doctrines. But we must comprehend as they did so clearly the supremacy and centrality of Christ as a window to the glory of God, even if they did place too much stock in the church as institution.

1. This is God’s way of keeping me humble when I might be inclined to take pride in the effort I put into doctrine: the faith I have been given is so small, my spiritual sight so dull by nature, that I can apprehend the glory of God only through the clearest of lenses. Praise to God that he provides the lens along with that small measure of faith.

The strength of the Protestant reformation was the axe it applied to contemporary Catholic doctrine. Is it prohibited in scripture? Then let no papal bull allow it. Is it allowed in scripture? Then let no writ forbid it. Is it not spoken of in scripture? Then let one neither forbid nor require it.

One of the many categories to get the axe was that of sacraments. Catholics had a nice round list of seven, several of which are nowhere spoken of in the Bible. Furthermore, they were understood as means of receiving grace, rather than signs of grace already received. So the list was understandably shortened. Holy orders and last rites do not belong on the same list as baptism and eucharist. But one in particular got thrown out perhaps too hastily, one whose consequences are now coming to bear in the modern American political scene: marriage.

To be sure, the Catholic church had an extremely unhealthy view of marriage at the time – a “necessary evil”, going even further than Paul in 1 Corinthians 7:8-9. Luther’s criticism of the whole idea of the holy orders – particularly of the celibacy of priests, nuns, and monks – is something the Catholic church could still bear to hear, given the endemic sexual abuses within its orders.

But the baby got thrown out with the bathwater here. By relegating marriage to a civil institution, we miss the rich spiritual symbolism behind marriage. And even with that in mind, we miss the primacy of that symbolism.

First, let’s define sacraments by the two that everyone agrees on, baptism and eucharist.

1. They are ritual in a sense, but as celebration, not as entreaty.
2. They are symbols: the Eucharist of the sacrifice of Christ, and baptism of spiritual death and resurrection.

In short, a sacrament is a means by which we display externally as a symbol of something spiritual, or at least not present. Before Christ, animal sacrifice was such a sacrament analogous to baptism. The animal itself did not cover sins, but was a symbol of something greater. The passover, likewise, celebrated the exodus from Egypt in the same way as we now celebrate Christ’s sacrifice with the Eucharist.

Marriage, with all its aspects, certainly fits this definition. God uses richly sexual language in the Old Testament to describe his relationship with Israel, and later the Church (all throughout Ezekiel, for example) – the former compared to a prostitute (Hosea), who through redemption as the latter will be presented as a spotless bride (Revelation). God is compared throughout the Bible and specifically by Jesus to a bridegroom who is returning for his bride – namely the Church.

The analogy goes the other way around too. In Ephesians 5, Paul speaks of the wife as subject to the husband in the same way as the church is subject to Christ, and of the Husband as responsible for the safety, both physical and spiritual, of the wife, in the same way that Christ sacrificed himself for the Church.

So why have Protestants traditionally considered marriage a civic matter anyway?

Luther’s sentiments – that Marriage is a civic matter. It is really not, together with all its circumstances, the business of the church. It is so only when a matter of conscience is involved – I think stem from several sources, not least of which is the reaction against the Catholic church’s pathology of marriage. But more significant to our modern context is a reluctance to deny the title of “marriage” to unbelievers. Their unions are celebrated and carry on in much the same way as ours, so it’s tempting to call it the same thing.

But it is really not the same thing. What protestants fail to appreciate is the primacy of the symbol. God does not compare his relationship with the church to marriage just because there’s nothing better to compare it to, as if marriage was prior and God just used that as an example. Quite literally, marriage (and therefore sex) exist for the sole purpose of symbolizing the relationship between God and the church. Sex, as one of the highest forms of physical ecstasy, serves the purpose of broadening our palate of “good”, of heightening our knowledge of it. Add on top of that the bedrock deep emotional attachment, affection, and commitment, and one has the whole spectrum; a microcosm in which to taste the goodness of God through one’s spouse.

No doubt marriages with and without this foundation can look superficially similar to one another. So can devout Christians and self-described “good people”. The Christian and the hippie may find themselves working together at Habitat For Humanity, but could their worldviews be more different? It is the core of Protestant doctrine that superficial similarities in works count for nothing without a regenerated heart (Isaiah 64:6). We’ve simply failed to extend that to marriage.

Indeed, if marriage were primarily a civil institution, what good would it confer upon the unbeliever who partakes? Certainly no final spiritual good without Christ as the center. Is marriage nothing more than a common grace, akin to tasty bagels and sunny days, enjoyable by believers and unbelievers alike? That position, I think, is untenable given the amount and intensity of treatment in the scriptures.

The idea of marriage as a primarily civil institution is also the root of the Evangelical opposition to gay marriage. All the treatment of marriage in the Bible, they see, is not for furthering the sanctification of the believer, but for maintaining the bedrock of civilization (as some dramatically call the institution). This is patently ridiculous, but as the argument usually hinges on the raising of children, which I have treated elsewhere, I will not divert here. Suffice it to say that such a line of thought evidences a lack of faith in the work of God to the highest degree.

In fact, Christians cannot have it both ways. If marriage is a civil institution, then the Church (and everyone) has an interest in promoting marriage as an institution, but the Biblical arguments for permitting gay marriage in the church all of a sudden work. It would have simply been a cultural injunction against temple prostitution. Promote civil marriage as the bedrock of civilization, but marriage for everyone.

If marriage is a sacrament, however – if the symbol is primary – then Christians can no more condone gay marriage than baptism in the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Yet in this they may not use the state to enforce it, for an unbeliever “marrying” another of the same sex no more defiles the sacrament than one who marries another of the opposite sex, for neither participates in the sacrament at all. It would be just as ridiculous as mandating by law church attendance on Sundays, which most (hopefully) would agree would do little if any spiritual good for anyone.

Sacramentalizing marriage is thus not only a more healthy (and more Biblical) way to approach the matter, but also a dose of common sense to a church tilting at political windmills. The richness of the symbolism confers a seriousness to it. And given the state of what passes for marriage today, it could use some of both the somberness of the eucharist and the excitement of baptism that come with the realization that one is partaking in the symbol of divine union.

Ni Dieu Ni Maître – “Neither God Nor Master” – is a slogan coined by a Socialist publisher which has more recently become popular among anarchists. The idea is that the self is the final authority, that it has an obligation to submit itself to no authority, religious or political.

There indeed seems to be a sentiment, especially among left-libertarians and anarchists, that religious devotion is incompatible with liberty. Submission to the state, the logic goes, is only a small step to a mind accustomed to submission to God.

Is it such a small step, though, as if the authority of God were essentially the same as the authority of men but on a grander scale?

The difference hinges upon consequence. For any action, there are consequences, which may be divided into natural and unnatural consequences. If I speed, for example, the natural consequences are 1) lower fuel efficiency, 2) faster arrival time, and 3) increased risk of collision. These are the consequences inherent in the nature of the action. A speeding ticket, on the other hand, is an unnatural consequence: it is imposed from without by force, and has no essential connection to the action.

All human authority is predicated on unnatural consequences for violation of that authority. And of course some of this is necessary for a well-functioning society: protection of what have come to be called the “natural rights”¹ by unnatural consequences is foundational to the market economy and to modern civilization. But on the whole, it is presumably the goal of every friend of liberty to reduce the set of unnatural consequences to a reasonable minimum, to prevent abuses like shutting down a little girl’s lemonade stand.

Where the anti-religious go wrong then is imagining divine authority to be also predicated on unnatural consequences. People both religious and irreligious have an idea of God as a sort of Zeus figure standing in Heaven with a lightning bolt ready to impose doom on those who don’t follow his will.

Or a piano.

The entire idea is ludicrous. The authority of God consists entirely of natural consequences, though the irreligious misestimate those. Hell, for example, is not the final spite of a vindictive God against those who have spited him. God being the summum bonum, the ultimate good from which all other good derives, then final rejection of God is quite literally the rejection of all good. Hell is therefore the most natural consequence of a conscious rejection of that good, a separation from all that is good.

Likewise with regard to the law, the entire point of the New Testament is that it is not an end in itself. Paul harps on the point of freedom from the law for several chapters in Romans, yet because it fails to conform to the default Zeus concept of God, it is more or less ignored by the masses on both sides. The authority of God is not a series of categorical imperatives given weight by the threat of burning. Rather, it is the means by which we pursue our best self-interest – not materially, where moths and rust destroy, but spiritually, by striving directly for the highest good, rather than subsidiary goods as ends in themselves. As John Piper said recently, “Love God and do as you please is not bad advice“, hence his term Christian Hedonism.

The attack can then be levied, why all the injunctions against things that have no apparent consequences? This is another fundamental difference between human and divine authority: where human authority can only be exercised with respect to external behavior, divine authority is more concerned with the state of the soul. Thus, an action may have no physical consequences but by its nature serves to further alienate one from the summum bonum. Action is a feedback loop, both springing from and reinforcing our identities and conceptions of ourselves. Indeed, alteration of the self is the most natural of consequences: the Bible makes it clear that sin is both what is punished, and the punishment itself, as each action further separates one from the good. This vicious cycle is precisely the reason that the human condition is so spiritually desperate.

One can no more reject the authority of God than the authority of gravity. Not just because God has the means to inflict punishment, but because if we were not de facto subject to it, there would be no such thing as a consequence to an action, good or bad. In fact to reject the idea of the authority of God should he exist is to deny the very idea of identity, for we choose actions based on (what we understand to be) their consequences; based on the decrees of a God who has ordered everything we consider natural.

1. This is a completely different, and in my opinion inexpedient, sense of the word “natural”. I tend towards a more Hayekian view of the natural rights; that they are the bundle of rights which have been shown through history as the most expedient to civilization ( see The Principle of Federalism for a slightly more expanded discussion of the natural rights).

Occam’s razor (or Ockham’s razor), is the meta-theoretical principle that “entities must not be multiplied beyond necessity” (entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem) and the conclusion thereof, that the simplest solution is usually the correct one.

Wikipedia, Occam’s Razor

Occam’s razor is often cited as an evidence against the existence of God. The argument goes that if we can explain the universe without resorting to notions of God, then it is preferable to do so. Whether or not Occam’s razor actually applies in this situation (i.e., if the cosmological theories posited to get around an ex nihilo creation end up being unreasonably convoluted), this argument obviously has its appeal: why argue for the existence of something that we don’t need to explain what we see? Yet the appeal of this argument in itself belies its very unsuitability for this question, and in fact demonstrates just the opposite point.

We might rephrase the conclusion of the razor to say that “the most elegant solution is usually the correct one”. Or, “the most beautiful solution is usually the correct one. Occam’s razor is an a priori principle, a bias among otherwise equally well-descriptive theories which says the universe is fundamentally beautiful.

Why would the universe be fundamentally beautiful? Given two theories which explain all the evidence, what gives us license to prefer the simpler, more elegant, more beautiful one? We are beyond the realm of evidence, for this is the framework by which we must interpret it (hence meta-theoretical in the definition). And ultimately, if we are to say that the universe is systematically beautiful in any meaningful way, as Occam’s razor does, then we must explain that in a way that transcends chance and probability, for beauty in the sense of the elegance of an explicans is the antithesis of purposelessness.

Ultimately, science – the realm of the a posteriori – can only answer the question “how”. Things can have purpose in their own narrowly defined way – for example in natural selection and adaptation, there is a sense in which a feature of an animal can be said to be “for” something: legs for locomotion, eyes for vision. But the “why” of an anatomical feature stops at its usefulness to the environment. There can be no “why”, no beauty, beyond the narrow scope of what we define ourselves as “purpose” – in that case, survival. Yet we nevertheless speak of the beauty of nature through science; of the elegance of a theory – precisely because we have a priori biases like Occam’s Razor by which we can make aesthetic judgements on the “why”s among which we would have no other way of deciding.

So if we are to move beyond narrow and localized “why”s into a fundamental “why”, we must take seriously the assumption behind Occam’s Razor. The search for a grand and unified physical theory of everything – the quest to unify all the fundamental forces – would prove to be the ultimate (scientific) expression of universal beauty, as well as the ultimate application of Occam’s Razor. But such a search can only be warranted if we have a reason to assume the universe is fundamentally elegant; fundamentally beautiful.

Of course, Occam’s Razor is only a bias; weaker than an axiom. It does not prove the existence of a God; it assumes it. Therefore we phrase our proposition: to the extent that Occam’s Razor holds true, it suggests the existence of a fundamental universal beauty – i.e., a God.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.
Romans 8:28

With graduation fast approaching, the question gets asked very often: What is God’s will for my life? Life is full of uncertainty about the future, and that’s generally the context of the question. What college do I go to? What job do I take? Whom do I marry? Where do I move? The circumstances are endless, but the question remains the same.

The first thing to notice about this question is that it makes at least one assumption. The question is at its core asking, what is the best option for my life? The assumption that leads this question to be asked in terms of the will of God is that God has my best interests in mind. This is a good assumption as per Romans 8:28 (above), if I love God and am called according to his purpose. Therefore, the first thing to do when asking this question is to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12); “test yourselves to see if you are in the faith” (2 Corinthians 13:5). If “indeed you fail the test”, God’s will may not indeed be for your good. In that case, the importance of the question of foundational faith automatically trumps the question of life choices.

The second thing to notice is that it’s not (usually) a moral question, and it can’t be approached that way. Moral questions we can generally look to the Bible for clear prescriptive answers. What’s right, what’s wrong, and what makes it so? If we come to a choice of going in on embezzlement with a friend or staying out, the answer is pretty clear: “Thou shall not steal” (Exodus 20:15). If we get the notion that grace means license, we are rebuked in no uncertain terms “May it never be!” (Romans 6:1-2).

With a question like this however, one can only look to the Bible for general principles. After one is secure in one’s own faith, these are the first go-to in uncertain life situations. Principles like “do not be bound together with unbelievers” (2 Corinthians 6:14) and “bad company corrupts good morals” (1 Corinthians 15:33) automatically eliminate most of the marriage pool and friend stock from the running, for example. “Whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31) should serve to make us critically examine our intentions in making any decision, which may shed light on the most appropriate choice.

Internalizing these principles also assures that our definition of “good” does not differ from God’s: what we might call material blessing is not necessarily a blessing, and God may bless us by means that may otherwise look like curses. If we seriously want the will of God; if we seriously strive for our own good, then we cannot be weighed down by fleshly notions of the good. Material ambition will only distort one’s perceptions of one’s own interests, making the question of God’s will in reality no concern to the self.

But even Biblical principles do not always lead to a clear choice. Even the most spirit-filled Christian may be overcome by doubts and second-guessing. A job in Oklahoma and a job in Georgia will obviously present radically different ministry opportunities, but the Christian has no way of knowing which one he will be more fruitful in. Short of a vision from God, how is he to decide?

With the original question thus factored down to “what is good for my life?”, we can answer emphatically with Romans 8:28: “God causes all things to work for the good of those who love him”. The nagging worry that one has not fulfilled the will of God is most certainly not the will of God for the Christian. We can rest assured that if we are pursuing God and resting in him, that the decisions of life will not work to our detriment, whatever they may be. This is what Peter means when he says to “cast all your anxiety on him”: to rest in the faith that our path is not unclear, nor contingent on our own ingenuity in working for our own good.

This is where real faith departs from the standard “Christian” answer to this question. God does indeed work through circumstances. God does indeed “open and close doors”. But it is fruitless to look around at every situation as a sign from God regarding the decision in question. The standard “look for a sign” or “wait until you have a peace about it” line leads to passive Christians who are blown about by the winds of circumstance: signs will not necessarily come, and you will not necessarily get peace one way or another. The question of the will of God, beyond issues of Biblical principle, is so easy to use as a mask for indecision. Waiting on a sign allows us to abdicate the responsibility placed upon us to make a good decision.

Often the question cast in terms of discernment – discerning the will of God in one’s own or another’s life. Often this plays out in Christians asking what circumstances are signs from God for the decision, and what has nothing to do with the decision. What constitutes spiritual peace about a decision, and what is one’s own mind working? These are exactly the wrong questions to be asking. Our responsibility is to internalize the principles of Scripture and to deal with life on its own terms through that framework, not to imagine we can disavow responsibility for our own life decisions by looking outward at our circumstances.

This is where the doctrine of the sovereignty of God stops being an arcane theological point and becomes a matter of faith or lack thereof. Faith not only in the final resurrection, but faith that God is in control of even one’s own decisions. Faith that God works all things to the good of those who love him.

There are also, on the other hand, those who would like to relieve such stress by asserting that God works to our good as we make our decisions; that God does not have one single set-out plan for our life – as if God “makes do” with our decisions ad hoc. They are right in refuting the fancy that God would be disappointed in a decision made completely in line with the principles of scripture, but they sacrifice the sovereignty of God in service of that, and in doing so commit an even graver error. God does have a single plan laid out for everyone’s life, but unlike the standard Christian line, the burden is not upon us to find it. God’s will will be done, not as long as we make good decisions, not after our decisions, but through our decisions and including our decisions.

It is helpful here to distinguish as Calvin does between the will of God and the precepts of God (Institutes, 1.18.4). The precepts of God are our responsibility – the principles and commandments of scripture subsumed by “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:6-40). The will of God (by which he means the secret will of God), on the other hand, is not our responsibility, and will come to pass regardless of our decisions. It is this will that assures us that our final good is in store.

The purpose of Romans 8:28 is that we know our decisions will work to our good so long as we make them in accordance with the principles of scripture – so long as we are earnestly seeking after God. We cannot absolve ourselves of the responsibility of making decisions by seeking a sign of the secret will of God (Matthew 16:4), but we also rest assured in the knowledge that God is in control even of our internal state of mind. Knowing that God uses all means – even our own volition – to work for our good so long as we have faithfully “put on the whole armor of God” (Ephesians 6:11) frees us from the worry of future regret.